good morning june
emil is my hero!
what is it about swedes and art? everything they do, everything they create, everything they touch turns to gold. and I am not kidding.
emil, the singer in good morning june was kind enough to send me weird act.
I have been listening to this song on and on and on and on and on and on and on…ok, you get the picture;
it is STUCK in my brain!
it starts off like a cool breeze a morning in june. then it awakens you and you’re somehow caught by surprise by your sudden love for the ever so catchy melody. emil’s voice is calm, kind…and vulnerable, in a way you can’t exactly put your fingers on. another definition would be; a voice belonging to someone who is easy to fall in love with. yes, he actually gives you that feeling.
wordpress doesn’t allow me to post mp3s – click here to listen to weird act
tatar eyes
I just watched the latest 007 trailer, quantum of solace. it is fascinating to see how the bond girl looks like a tatar even though she is characterized as a russian. her tatar eyes give her away. like my eyes give me away. like my children’s eyes probably will give them away. her name and her eyes combined together make me think about how much our history affects us. if it wasn’t for my ancestors who moved away from crimea (southcoast of ukraine) and ended up in turkey, my parents and I might have been given russian names, too. just like olga kurylenko.
fields of interest
what are you studying, the girl asked
psychology, the boy smiled
oh, that sounds interesting! the girl said with an amusement
(she loves psychology)
yes, I think it’s really interesting. soo…what are you studying, the boy asked
art history, the girl said with an excitement.
(her eyes were glowing)
ohh…, he said.
(he couldn’t think of anything else to say)
look at his eyes, the girl thought, and smiled at him, struggling not to burst into laughter
born to be shy
Yes, that is what he is. As an attempt to hide it, he creates his long sentences like a chain reaction of unfiltered, colorful words; spitting them beautifully out. The stolen looks inbetween his words, they give away his shyness. I would say he almost got me, but he didn’t. I saw him. Even before he was aware. Even before…
Slowly, I am floating down the cliff. The sky looks more dramatic, more frightening and more appealing than ever. I open my arms, pretending to be flying. My soaked white dress seems light and covers my body like an additional layer of skin made to cool me down.
This is the scene I have been dying to create. My heartbeat is the soundtrack I have been dying to compose.
The girl with the camera keeps filming me. And I, I send her a look I know she understands, not unlike the looks I gave her running up the hill.
Hitting the ocean, the gray pattern in the landscape, will wake me up from the dream. And when I wake up, he will already be awaken.
Born to be shy. Yes, that is what he is.
knowledge
just a thought. Norwegians who know who Atatürk is impress me. And it turns out the cute guy with the hat (who is also writing about Andy Warhol) knows who he is, too. Impressive.
PS: I like the way he wears his plaid pants.
what I see
Evening.
It’s getting dark.
I see a girl.
I am holding a camera, filming the girl.
She is running up a hill, eager to get to the top, to the cliff as fast as she can and watch the dramatic waves create a gray pattern in the landscape. As far as she can see there will be shades of gray; almost white, almost black. Also a shade right in between almost white and almost black.
She is running like crazy, looking back once in a while, smiling. And as her long, white dress gets in the way she lifts it up and uncovers her pale legs. The wind penetrates her skin like thousands of needles.
She runs faster. And faster. And I keep up with her, looking straight in her eyes through the camera every time she turns around. She doesn’t even slow down. She is soaked in rain and appears to be thankful. Her hair is all messed up, her cheeks blossoming red and in her eyes, there is a gaze, a hint of a story she is dying to tell.
We reach the top. She looks back. At me. At the green, intensely green hill. Smiles. Awaits. Lets the green and gray get mixed up in her sight before she close her eyes and lets herself fall down the cliff. Smiling like I’ve never seen her smile before.
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This is what I see when I listen to this song:
I am so happy…
…I have a model who’s eager (yes, really!) to be photographed soaked in rain.
any other volunteers?
this photo makes…
…me want to party in the woods! haha.
you should definitely check out this guys blog 
his name is sam, that is all I know. and he might be xtina’s friend, I am not sure. and I hope he doesn’t mind me stealing this photo.
fourleafclover
I have always been fascinated by commercials, but only a few of them have managed to really touch me. the new flax commercial caught me by surprise and I am amazed by how emotional it is. it turns out that it is directed by joachim trier, the same directer of reprise (–> link to my favorite scene).
which explains it all.
I am fascinated by his choice of music, too; as the postal service is one of my favorite bands.
becoming a dream crusher
so we all got married, some of us had an amazingly beautiful wedding reception and some of us a bohemian/nontraditional party in a backyard somewhere/anywhere dancing barefoot (that would be me, I hope) and we became mothers and fathers and hoped that our children would get along. just like us. we had hopes and dreams of our own, waiting for them to be crushed by our ungrateful beloved children.
that’s the purpose of life, isn’t it? that’s the way it goes, isn’t it? crushing the dreams of our parents. whether you want to or not, whether you like it or not.
now that is a difference between turkish and norwegian parents. norwegian parents are OK with having (maybe even proud to have) their dreams crushed while turkish parents are too often offended by the fact that your dreams are not equal to theirs. I am so glad I’m not 100% turkish.
when I am an 80-year-old woman I hope I won’t have to look back at my life and be devastated by the fact that my children didn’t crush my dreams.
